And Then One Day
The funeral was elaborate to say the least. Besides all the dancers and various employees of the Moulin Rouge, half the population of the upper reaches of Parisian society was there as well. Well, the male half anyway, and I devoutly hoped that Satine had not slept with all these men. They did, however serve two important purposes. Chiefly, they honored the memory of our fallen courtesan, apparently it wasn't just her looks they were enamored of, and secondly, they served as a distraction for Christian. He was unable to drown in despair with the fire of jealous rage burning through his veins.
And money really can buy almost anything. In the week following her death my employees and a small army of hired masons had managed to put up one of the most magnificent crypts in the cemetery. White marble columns rippled with veins of gold and red held up a roof of the same material and surrounded a building covered with chiseled roses and cherubs. It was a work of art and I was immensely proud of my people.
It was a shame the thing was empty. I had done some fast-talking and used all my mental powers to convince Zidler and the mortician that the funeral should be a closed casket affair. When I painted the picture of Christian making a spectacle of himself to Zidler he finally agreed to skip the viewing of the body.
I am told that they still had to hold him back from throwing himself on the box and demanding to be entombed along with her. My chief valet reported that Toulouse and the boy's other bohemian friends had to hold him between them to keep him away from the coffin.
Satine, in fact, was asleep in a different coffin right beside mine in the room I had especially designed for that purpose. Each night she awakened before me and was gone until after I had returned. The only reason I knew this was because the servants saw and waited on her and reported it back to me. Once I taught her how to feed, she would have nothing to do with me.
So we divided our time awake without any discussion whatsoever. She would awaken first (at least she would get up and get dressed first, I would remain in my box until I could hear that she was safely gone) and go out to feed and shop and do whatever she needed to do. Then I would go out and feed if necessary and then go visit Christian. I brought him food, made sure his bills were paid, got him out of bed and back at his typewriter, got him to go out with his friends once in a while, and whatever else was necessary to maintain him. After he went to sleep, when ever that was, I would leave and do my nightly business for an hour or so, and then go home, and read or go over my account books, anything to not think about the two of them for a while. I knew as soon as I left she would arrive. My leaving was her signal that he was safely asleep and she could go and watch over him.
I know that once or twice Toulouse saw her, but by then he was sickening himself and it was just a matter of time before I would have to build another mausoleum next to Satine's. Only this time, it would have an actual occupant. He told me of his sightings, but he decided for himself that it was either his own delusion or, if it was something else, it was entirely beneficial.
And then one day, as Christian would have us believe, I went to his room to find that he had finished the story. The sheets of paper that had covered the walls had been collected and lay in a neat pile next to the typewriter. The machine itself still held a single sheet of paper, but I ignored this. In spite of the earliness of the hour, my nephew was fast asleep on the bed. He had fallen asleep again with his hat on, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball, the hat coming loose from his head to be trapped against the pillow and further crumpled into a disreputable mess. His face was at last in repose. Sorrow had drained his waking face of all its innocence and much of its charm. But asleep that sweetness returned, and I wished fervently that I could find some way to bring it back to his waking self. Using the back of one hand, I reached out and stroked his forehead, brushing the thick hair back from his forehead. Even in deep mourning, smelling like old sweat and sour wine with two weeks growth of beard, he was endearing.
At that moment I realized that it was difficult for me to tell whether the stink in the room was predominantly from Christian or the garret itself. Empty bottles of absinthe lay on top of furniture along with other bottles that contained the dregs of cheep wine. Half-burned stinking tallow candles crowded against books that were damp with mold from the leak that ran down one corner of the room. Unwashed clothes were strewn across every available space and several plates of half-eaten food had attracted mice and their unique odor as well. I had become accustomed to the stench and had ignored it in favor of supporting Christian in his need to write. The writing had kept him going and I was not about to interfere in that. Now, however, the book was actually finished, and I was bound and determined not to spend another night in this sewer without attempting to set it to rights.
Leaving the boy safely asleep, I hurried down the stairs and issued my orders to my waiting manservant. In less than an hour, all of my servants and some others they had hired along the way arrived to makeover my nephew's hovel into a livable abode once again. I followed them up the stairs and while my housekeeper was marshaling her troops in the corridor, I went back inside and whispered in Christian's ear, insuring that he would remain sleeping until I awakened him. Four of the men, one at each corner, lifted the mattress from the bed and carried it poet and all, out into the hallway. Some one brought me a chair, a book, and a glass of wine, and I sat out in the hall with my sleeping nephew while my army did battle with the filth.
Just over two hours later the door opened again and my housekeeper arrived to inform me that the room was presentable again. I followed her inside to inspect it, and as usual, bowed to her ability to create order out of chaos. Every surface sparkled. The refuse and ruined furniture were gone, the leak repaired and the wall cleaned. Two of the chairs had been replaced, and a new mattress, covered with clean sheets and spread, had replaced the old one. All of Christian's clothes had been replaced, the old taken away to be cleaned or burned, whichever was necessary. The garret was cleaner than it had been when the building itself had been built.
At the housekeeper's direction, a large bathtub had been brought in and filled with near boiling hot water. The men carried Christian back in, mattress and all, and set him next to it. With one of them assisting me, we lifted him up and dumped him, stinking clothes and all, into the water. He came up sputtering in surprise, then saw my face and shouted in fury. "Uncle! What is the meaning of this? What is going on?"
For such an intelligent lad, he could be incredibly dense sometimes. "It's a celebration of sorts my boy. You have finished your story so now its time to clean up and let the mice find a new home."
He wiped water from his eyes, sitting up to regain his balance. "That was not for you to decide! Dumping me in a bathtub in the middle of the night, its…its Rude!"
I could not help laughing, "Christian, rude is the definition of the odor you are emanating. I suggest you remove and dump those wet clothes in the bucket beside you so we can burn them and then make liberal use of the soap."
Christian picked up the soap and lifted one arm, no doubt intending to hurl it at me. This unfortunately brought his armpit in close proximity to his nose and of course he took a deep breath in preparation to throw his missile. He froze with his arm still back and his odd little nose wrinkled up as a look of disgust filled his eyes. Turning his head he gave a delicate sniff to said pit and then actually coughed, his eyes watering. "Oh my God! How can you stand to be in the same room with me?" He dropped the soap in favor of divesting himself of his filthy clothing as fast as possible.
Turning my back I shook with silent mirth and then stuck my head out into the hallway to order more hot water from the servants. When I looked around again, Christian was once again immersed in the water, vigorously soaping and scrubbing all exposed surfaces.
"I'm sorry Uncle, I have not been paying attention to much more than the paper before me." His face had softened and his eyes were blue-toned, which I took to mean that he was no longer lost in despair.
"That's quite alright. I cannot begin to imagine the pain you've experienced this last year." Before I could say more, three of the maids and one of my drivers arrived with more hot water. They helped Christian into a robe and changed out the water so he could clean himself again and then rinse off the soap. Before he could argue with her, one of the maids produced a comb and scissors and trimmed his hair, then soaped his face and removed that hideous grow he'd let spring up. I watched with amusement as she directed the last of the clean up, making sure he was dried and warmly dressed, wet dirty clothes and bathing equipment removed in moments. I knew my housekeeper would be proud of her protégé.
While Christian made himself comfortable on the bed and I took the chair at his desk, the maid came back with a meal. I of course just took wine, but she forced the hot soup bread and cheese on him with a look so stern he simply smiled, thanked her and began to eat. She turned to bow to me and I winked at her. She grinned and slipped out the door.